


Darkness May Hide The Trees

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 18:51:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19796914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: Sometimes a demon needs a little reassurance that he's capable of loving his angel.





	Darkness May Hide The Trees

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, another late-night fic inspired by fanart. Somebody please stop me.
> 
> Title from "Love Letters in the Sand: The Love Poems of Khalil Gibran"
>
>> Darkness may hide the trees  
> and the flowers from the eyes  
> but it cannot hide  
> love from the soul.

As soon as Aziraphale stirred, he knew something was wrong. Where previously Crowley had been snuggled against him was now only a cold draught.

The chill of his absence was far worse than the November air.

“Crowley?”

He was sat up in the bed, covers pooled in his lap, angular shoulders limned in moonlight. But it was the despondent droop of his head that brought Aziraphale fully awake in an instant.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, angel. Go back to sleep.”

Aziraphale knew he was often gullible, but he wasn’t stupid. “How can I sleep when I know you’re upset?”

“I’m not _upset_.” He spat the word with the same venom he applied to such epithets as _nice_.

“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed, placating, but he wouldn’t let his concern be brushed aside. “But something _is_ bothering you.”

A shrug, Crowley hunching in on himself a little more. Unable to bear the sight, Aziraphale sat up, reached out a hand. The skin of Crowley’s back was cool to the touch and the demon leaned a little into the contact before remembering himself.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Aziraphale offered, “but please don’t close yourself off. Let me help.”

“Don’t do that.”

Although Crowley couldn’t see it, Aziraphale frowned. “Do what?”

“Be nice to me.”

“Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?” Now Aziraphale was utterly confused. “I love you, my dear.”

A snort, harsh in the darkness. “Of course you do, you’re an angel. You love everything.”

“Now, you know that’s not true.”

If Aziraphale had hoped to lighten the mood, his attempt at a joke fell rather flat.

“You can’t love me,” Crowley stated then, as if it were an incontrovertible fact. “I’m a demon.”

“Nonsense.” Aziraphale could only wonder at where this doubt had come from, fear he had done something to make Crowley think he wasn’t loved. There had been arguments, he couldn’t deny that, but nothing that truly held any weight. And now, after everything they had survived? Even Aziraphale, oblivious to his own true feelings for so long, had eventually come to recognise them for what they were. What they had _always_ been. “I love you with all my soul.”

Crowley shook his head, mumbled something that Aziraphale, even with his angelic hearing, failed to catch.

“What’s that, my dear?”

“That’s why you deserve better!” It burst from Crowley, frustration and anguish radiating from his thin frame.

“Better than what?”

Crowley’s response was a snarl, raw with self-loathing. “Me!”

It cut through Aziraphale like a knife.

“Oh, Crowley, no. Don’t ever think you don’t—”

“I’m a _demon!_ ” Crowley clearly wasn’t listening, too caught up in whatever misconception had been haunting him. The fight suddenly left him, his shoulders slumping, and when he continued his voice was dulled by hopeless despair. “I _can’t_ love you. Not the way you deserve to be loved.”

Oh. Understanding struck Aziraphale like a punch to the gut. This was the crux of the matter, the real reason Crowley was so troubled; it wasn’t the angel’s love he doubted but his own. And sometimes, to his shame, Aziraphale _forgot_. He forgot that Crowley couldn’t feel love the way he did, couldn’t sense the compassion in humans, couldn’t feel the warmth and joy infused in places that had hosted countless happy occasions.

Couldn’t feel the love that flowed from him in waves whenever he caught sight of Aziraphale, the way his smile lit up as bright as the stars he helped create. Sometimes Aziraphale thought he might burst from its potency, although Crowley probably would have rolled his eyes and called him melodramatic.

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale couldn’t stand it any longer. He slid up close behind Crowley, dragging the blankets with him as he wrapped his arms around the slender body, pressed a kiss to a bare shoulder. “You already do.”

It was a long time before Crowley let himself acknowledge the truth of it, but long fingers lacing with his own was all the confirmation Aziraphale needed.


End file.
